XVIII, Paul Sartres apartments
by whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer
Summary: The smell of liquor clings heavy to Mr.Elric as her bangs do to her forehead that is damp in sweat. "If the client requests it, we shall go anywhere. Representing the Auto Memoir Doll service, I am Violet Evergarden."


The heat of the summer sun beats down on her and the buzzing and bubbly crowds of people that she weaves through. The layers of her Auto Memory Doll uniform are nothing compared to carrying supplies when her body was still growing. Now Violet's body has grown, like the plant the Major had gifted her name after, and because of that she can gracefully endure the dress that bears down upon her sweaty skin and the weight of her briefcase she firmly carries with one hand; Violet Evergarden is an Auto Memories Doll - she will run as fast as she can no matter the weather to her customers' destinations.

When Violet reaches her destination - XVIII, Paul Sartre's apartments - she gently sets down her briefcase on the stained carpet and knocks. The sound of metal agansit wood is different than that of a human's hand. Uneven footsteps could be detected as her client, Mr. Elric, made his way to the door. Her eyes stay forward despite the curiosity the prods her; Mr. Elric, while eccentric and 'furious in temper' (the later being why Mr. Hodgins chose her), was a well in knowledge and begrudging respect in his profession's community. The professor could surely afford a better live arrangements than of these.

Once again Violet was let piqued in curiosity by those around her that she was always observing from - those she hoped one day would be able to make her comprehend instead of her simply just (only, not enough) conveying emotions unto the clients' intended recipient.

The door opened with a drawn out creak. His eyes (ones that bring Violet to the memory of the feral cat Benedict had taken a likening unto before it stopped coming around) squint up at her despite the glasses adorned on his tanned nose.

Her brown leather gloves grab onto the corners of her skirt as she curtsies before the short man, one heeled shoe brought behind the other foot. Violet's blue eyes ('They're like a dolls!' she had often been told or overheard despite the children's whispers.) stay upward in wariness despite the action. The smell of liquor clings heavy to as her bangs do to her forehead that is damp in sweat.

"If the client requests it, we shall go anywhere. Representing the Auto Memoir Doll service, I am Violet Evergarden."

Bitter, drunken laughter, like that of the soldiers she fought with - no, for the soldiers she fought for to protect them - she was a weapon, weapons did not fight with men they only were to use by them), fills her ears after her introduction. None the less allows her in his home that toed line of barren. As her eyes scan the room Violet can not help but think almost barren apartment might be a more accurate reconnaissance than home. The only table in this part of the house (the livingroom was conjoined with the kitchen) was that of the dining room table. Voilet's eyes flickered back to , her lips became thin at her observation. There would be no work done today with the professor being drunk.

Violet sat down her briefcase and turned to fully face the short man. With thin lips Violet asks, "Do you a meal preference? I am not a maid but in the inebriated state which you are in cooking would likely not be something good for you to partake in."

stares at her, an eyebrow raised above his glasses, however his golden eyes are amused. He mutters something, more like Al than her, before clearly speaking to Violet. "I've already cooked - learnt to years ago. Not all restaurants and inns are crazy about feeding dog or even having one in them."

Violet stares openly though her head does not tilt in confusion like the animal they speak of would. "Dog?" She repeats in a tone of question for he is not a canine.

His expression grows into itself, hiding at some realization Violet can not begin to guess. "Means someone who worked for the military."

The way he uttered the word military... it was hatred mixed with longing?

"I've never been referred to as such," Violet confessed, but before she could further elaborate on her repo- no, further details interrupted her.

"This isn't my country." As he speaks 's eyes stare at her - they must see something he doesn't like because his mouth becomes thin too. It was almost as thin as the antenna like piece of hair that stands up on his head. "Why did you join the military kid?"

(For someone who smelled of liquor did not act as though he was under its influence. Perhaps he had grown a tolerance from experience?)

There are no words that come to Violet's mind because she had never joined the military. It and war had been all she known ever since Captain Būgenbiria's men had found her at the medical tent - she had been the only to survive though her memories had not done so. That - war and the military - is all she had ever known till Mr. Hodgins had refused to discard her after the war and she had decided that she needed to understand what love was.

Finally Violet speaks, "I was raised by the military during the war."

Raised:

1.) To bring up ones child or children.

(There are several definitions of the word raised by they matter not with the subject.)

Was the definition - the word - truly honest for the situation? Violet wonders as memories of her treatment by other soldiers besides that of her Major came to mind. The Major's allies, Captain Būgenbiria, and his men had referred to her as a either weapon, a feral doll, and later hailed her as the Leidenschaftlich's warrior maiden.

(Only the Major had used her name during those years until they had ran into Hodgins before the final battle.)

Mr. Elric's mouth twists at her words but says no further words on the matter. "Do you want to rest or do you feel like working on the first letter? If it's the later your room is the left down hall. It's a bit messy by the desk but everything else will work."

"Are you in enough of coherent state to work, Mr. Elric?"

He let out a bark of laughter at her words. "Nicest way I've heard someone ask if I'm not drunk. Don't worry Evergarden. I only drank enough to numb the pain a bit since the manager still hasn't hired anyone to come fix my air conditioner."

Mr. Elric jerked his head to the table before continuing, "You can set up over there if you like."

That Violet did. Her skirt pooled against the carpet as she opened the suitcase to pull out the typewriter. After carrying and putting it on the dining room table Violet then fetched the sheets of paper necessary for the task at hand. Last were her gloves that she bit (the fabric of the leather was soft against her teeth) to pull of from her hands. It was the last task that caught Mr. Elric's attention despite the harsh fit coughing he had just finished.

"Would you prefer my gloves on for the task ahead sir?" Violet asks, pausing from movement at Mr. Elric's scrutiny of her prosthetics; it wouldn't be first time a client preferred not to see the sight of her artificial limbs.

Some emotion, one Violet could not discern, was lit in his eyes from her question. shook his head till he could find the words to speak. "You don't ever have to fucking hide it while you're here kid," he vehemently and crudely swore to Violet. "Despite what you've probably been told I'm not an actually asshole. Or one of those pitying types either."

He looked down at his palms - one a different color than the tan of the other - and said something under his breath before shaking his head with a frown.

Silence blanketed them heavily for a minute or two after that. Finally Violet spoke, "Recipient and address?"

And they began.

* * *

Originally posted on ao3 under the pen name youngjusticewriter.


End file.
